Desecrate
by whilewewereyetsinners
Summary: "I never meant to lead her into sin. I never meant to love her. I never meant for any of this to happen." Moved over from my Twilight 25, all human late-medieval AU, canon couples, Edward-style angst with a happy ending.
1. Anno Domini 1514

**Anno Domini 1514**

 ** _._**

 ** _Domine, exaudi orationem meum, et clamor meus ad te veniat_** **. Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come to you.**

I never meant to lead her into sin.

I never meant to love her.

I never meant for any of this to happen.

 ** _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa._** **By my fault, by my fault, by my most grievous fault.**

I had been installed as priest for Saint Aldeberge's Priory in Kent for only two months when Isabella's father sent her to be educated by the nuns. I did not take particular note of her at first, she was just one more young face in a sea of female faces, and I rarely interacted with the students, novices, and younger nuns. Over the next two years I gradually came to know her through hearing her confessions. She was so earnest and felt the weight of her most minor transgressions so strongly that I could not help admiring the beauty of her soul. That is not to say that she was saintly, but in truth her spirit and occasional stubbornness amused and enchanted rather than repulsed me, as perhaps they should have done. On one occasion she confessed to me that she loathed Sister Jane, but was not yet ready to be absolved and do penance since she had no intention of stopping, and I nearly laughed. Laughed, in the confessional! It was shameful.

I took care not to show her any preference and to be just in assigning her penances. I did not realize what I was allowing to develop within myself.

In the spring of the third year I could continue in blindness no longer.

There was an outbreak of virulent sickness, both in the priory and the village, and few of us remained well enough to aid the infected. Beside myself, only Dame Alianore, Sister Joan, Isabella, and another student, Alice, remained in health. Over the next three weeks we worked in shifts, the nuns at night and the students during the day, while I helped with both pairs, sleeping briefly when I could. When some of the less ill priory folk were well enough to help, I accompanied the girls to the village to give what assistance we could there. The girls obviously felt great affection for one another and worked well together. The three of us grew comfortable in each other's company, during quiet spells talking about books and plays, sharing stories about our families and childhoods. I liked them both, but found myself continually drawn toward Isabella, to her kindness, her gentleness, and her fortitude. For the first time I realized how lovely she was, both by sun and by candlelight.

One afternoon near the end of our work in the village, I watched her smile at an old woman as she assisted her back into bed and was forced to acknowledge that my feelings for her were not the sort of affectionate indulgence one might feel for a younger sister, not the sort of feelings I had developed for Alice, but that they were something more. Far more.

The realization was horrifying. The way I cared for her was wrong: terrible, sinful. God had made her pure and lovely. How could I sully her by thinking of her this way? I profaned not only my position as priest, but God Himself, by having these feelings.

I ran outside and vomited behind the building, drawing far more attention to myself than I would have liked and leading to fears that I would be the last person to become ill with the disease.

I wasn't sick (at least not in body; my mind was an entirely different matter) but they were correct that I had lost any sense of ease.

The wave of illness ended, finally, and I tried to regain a proper sense of distance. It was extremely difficult. My every instinct drew me to Isabella, and pretending to ignore her was agony. I noticed Alice watching me occasionally, and feared that she suspected my sin. I spent as much time out of the cloister or hiding in my chamber as I could. Every time I performed mass I felt as though I was drowning in my sinfulness, and when I handled the Host I half-expected God to strike me dead. After a few weeks, I almost welcomed the idea, though I knew that was sinful as well. I had a purpose here on earth, duties, responsibilities. I could not shirk them to escape earthly passions.

Shortly thereafter, my mother and my elder brother Emmet came for one of their twice-yearly visits. We were a close-knit family and I was happy to see them, but I knew that I was not myself. While I knew they would notice, I hoped they wouldn't comment.

The visit went well, until the day before they left. We saw Isabella crossing the yard on her way to bring something to the guesthall, the late-afternoon sun gleaming on her braided back hair, and my mother asked who she was. When I told her, she said, "Ah, of Swan Court? I remember her as a child. I heard her father is in betrothal talks for her—I don't recall with who." She then said the most unwittingly cruel thing of all: "Your father once thought of her as a wife for you, before he began thinking of you as a priest."

If she had taken a red-hot poker and thrust it into my chest, it would have hurt less.

She continued chattering away, while I fought to breathe normally and Emmet watched me with a dawning awareness in his eyes.

That evening, after my mother left our company for her chamber in the cloister, I walked Emmet back to the guesthall. He asked me if I was well. I lied (giving myself yet another thing to repent of) and said that I was. He asked if there was anything I needed. I opened my mouth to say no, but heard these words come out: "Find out who." He didn't ask what I meant, just nodded and clapped me on the shoulder with his large hand.

Perhaps it was wrong, but I needed to know that she had a chance of happiness. I needed to know she would be safe.

 _ **Custodi illam, Domine. Sub umbra alarum tuarum protégé illam.**_ **Guard her, Lord. Under the shadow of your wings protect her.**

As the days went by, my feelings inexplicably grew in strength. I was dreaming of her by night, and repenting of the dreams and my love for her during the day. I begged God to take it all away. I knew I was too weak to fight it alone.

Isabella's confessions had gradually become stilted and brief, to the point that I feared she had noticed my feelings for her and was allowing her discomfort and natural horror to prevent her from making confession properly. I knew she had a strong moral compass. Was I imperiling her soul by remaining here? Though I knew she likely did not have much longer here and I shrank from needing to explain my reasons, for her sake I considered asking for a reassignment.

Emmet returned, much to my surprise, less than three weeks after his visit with my mother. His public reason was that he was sent by his wife on pilgrimage to Canterbury, in gratitude for their babe's quickening. I was very happy to find that this was, in fact, true, since Rose had never borne any children, usually miscarrying the infants long before the point of quickening.

That evening, over supper in my chamber, I learned his other reason for coming. He told me grimly that he'd made inquiries and discovered that Isabella's father was in betrothal talks with James Huntian.

I felt sick. We'd grown up with James. He'd been an odious boy, never hesitating to cause harm with his words or his fists, and had grown into a cruel man. He'd married shortly before I came to St. Aldeberge's, but Emmet told me his wife and daughter had died suddenly about a year ago. I was stunned that Sir Charles would consider marrying his only child to such a man, but Emmet was of the opinion that he was still too deep in grief from the death of his wife three years earlier to know what he was about.

Before Emmet left for the guesthall to sleep, he pressed a heavy leather purse into my hand. I tried to protest, but he closed my fingers around it, telling me there was a letter inside, and to read it. Then, in a manner quite unlike him, he embraced me.

The following day, several hours after Emmet's departure, James arrived to meet Isabella.

I was unaware of his arrival, having been in the village assisting Father Giles, the village's priest, with court. I was surprised to find them alone in the church, her back arching her away from him and his hands holding too tightly to her jaw and upper arm. He let her go when he saw me, bowing mockingly at us both and telling her he would see her again soon. After he left we stood in silence, her fear and humiliation palpable. Eventually she whispered that she didn't want to marry him. I agreed that she shouldn't, and told her to tell her father.

She looked at me in such a way that I knew her father would be of no help to her, and I was furiously, impotently angry at him.

I was helplessly watching the bruises bloom on her face when she whispered that she had told James she would become a nun rather than marry him. I asked without thought, "Do you feel God calling you to do so?"

Betrayal flashed in her eyes, and after a long moment she turned and walked away.

I knew that was the question I needed to ask her. One should not become a bride of Christ to escape earthly marriage, no matter the manner of man involved, but I could not help but feel that I had failed her in that moment. My confusion and torment grew.

 ** _Omnipotens Deus, misereatur mei et dimissis peccatis meis._** **Almighty God, have pity on me and dismiss my sins.**

Even with the padded kneeler, my knees had become sore from praying, and my fingers had begun to wear smooth grooves into the wood of the prie dieu in my chamber. I only slept when unable to stay awake any longer, sometimes sleeping draped over my prie dieu, falling asleep and waking with words of supplication and remorse on my lips. My dreams were torturous. Sometimes I dreamt of being with Isabella, of there being no bar between us; other times I dreamt of Isabella with James, dreams in which she begged for my help while he hurt her, or where I must watch while he touched her. She would be his wife, to do with as he pleased, to pleasure or to injure. Knowing which he would usually choose to inflict on her made me literally sick.

In her next confession Isabella told me in a shaking voice that she loved, but not the man her father intended to betroth her to. I forced myself to be silent, afraid of what I would say if I opened my mouth.

Several minutes passed before she whispered, "Please say something. Fa— _Edward._ Please." My head thumped against the screen as I doubled over, gritting my teeth and fisting my hands in my hair so hard that it hurt.

After a few minutes of listening to each other's ragged breathing she inhaled deeply and quietly exited the confessional. I could hear the hushed whisper of the leather soles of her shoes on the tiled floor as she walked away, and it took all of my strength not to follow her.

Alice's betrothed, Sir Jasper Whytlock, came to visit two days later. Alice asked to introduce us to one another, and we walked in the orchard, enjoying the late summer sun. Her maidservant had wandered off to pick flowers, though still in sight of her charge, when Sir Jasper began speaking of his sister Emme, who was married to a Carles Cullen, an Englishman living in Saxony, near Wittenberg. I was listening politely, wondering why he felt the need to tell me this, when he looked about him and said quietly, "We're getting Isabella out of here tonight."

I worked to keep my face impassive as he told me of Alice's desire to get Isabella out of the country before her father signed a betrothal contract. He would be providing her with a man and maidservant, and accompanying them as far as the ship, from whence she would travel to his sister's. He couldn't travel with her farther than Folkestone since he was hoping no one would realize who had helped her leave, making it easier for her to remain hidden. He looked me in the eyes for a moment, as though measuring what sort of man I was, then reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a packet of papers wrapped in oiled cloth. "Carles is looking for a clerk," he said. "A man who is good with languages, particularly Latin."

I stared in surprise, then protested that an honorable man would not want one such as I in his household, and that I wasn't willing to lie to him. He assured me that there would be no objection to my presence, even intimating that Carles didn't believe that priests should be unable to marry.

I took an involuntary step back. A Lollard?

Apparently I said it aloud, because Sir Jasper replied drily that they preferred Wycliffite. He handed me the packet, and told me it was a letter of introduction and a recommendation, as well as a letter of credit. I replied blankly that I had money, and he smiled widely for the first time. "He'll do," he said to Alice.

He quickly reverted to briskness, telling me they would be leaving when everyone settled back into bed after Matins. There was to be a full moon that night, so traveling would not be a problem, and he wanted to get as far away as possible before dawn. If I wanted to go, I should meet them by the old hedgerow between the priory and the village as soon after Matins as I could.

Alice took my hand before they left me in the orchard and said quietly, "I hope you aren't here in the morning, Father Edward, but please. For Isabella's sake, don't go unless you are able to be what she needs."

I stood there for a long time, staring at the trees with unseeing eyes, then made my way to my chamber. I told a servant in passing that I was feeling unwell and wished to be left alone until morning. I knelt at my prie dieu, my knees fitting into the dents in the cushion and my fingers into the grooves in the wood; I knelt there and for the first time in months opened my mouth and nothing came out. No prayers, no pleas for forgiveness or deliverance, nothing. My heart was too full for words.

The sky was nearly dark when I asked desperately, " _Quid vis ut faciam?"_ What do I do?

I knelt there through the tolling of the bell for Vespers and Compline, my forehead pressed to the wood. When the bell tolled for Matins, I rose and packed my books, letters, and a change of clothes into a small bag. I put part of Emmet's money in my belt pouch and secreted the remainder and the packet of papers from Sir Jasper within the folds of my clothing. Then I knelt back down to wait for the nuns, and anyone else who was about, to return to bed.

The hushed noises finally ceased, and I whispered honestly, _"Domine,si peccaverint tibi non vis. Quaeso, si non, tunc mihi prohibere."_ Lord, I do not wish to sin against you. Please, if I should not go, then stop me.

I stood, feeling closer to peace than I had for months. I pulled the hood of my black cloak over my tonsured head and slipped silently out the door.

 ** _Omnipotens Deus, misereatur nostri et dimissis peccatis nostris._** **Almighty God, have pity on us and dismiss our sins.**

Isabella cried when she saw that I had come. We reached Folkestone in time for breakfast and crossed the channel to Calais that same day. The journey to Carles' estate took almost two months. A little more than halfway there my tonsure had grown out sufficiently for Willem, the manservant Sir Jasper sent with us, to trim the rest of my hair to match it. He found me non-priestly clothes, and Isabella and I were married, with himself and Margery, the maidservant, as witnesses.

I had expected to feel wretchedly guilty, but to my surprise, the months that followed were some of the happiest of my life. Marriage to Isabella was more wonderful than I had ever dreamed. I liked and respected both Carles and his wife, and I enjoyed working for him. I even enjoyed the theological discussions I was invited to take part in with Carles' circle of friends. Though I could not help but be shocked at some of the ideas and think them heretical, the study of the Bible with educated people was very interesting. And really, on what moral grounds could I, an apostate priest, judge another? Not that anyone knew that I had been a priest, of course. For secrecy's sake, I was known to everyone as Carles' cousin, and Isabella and I took his last name as our own. I sent Emmet a letter, signed with my new name, to let him know that we were safe, and received one in return telling us that Rose was safely delivered of a son, whom they named Jacob Edward. They had wished to name him for me, but Rose's parents objected, so they named him after his godfather and took the unusual step of giving him a second name. Emmet said they called him Ned, the little name I had been called as a child. I hoped that one day we would meet him.

There were few shadows over my life, but those that there were troubled me greatly. I deeply regretted the distress and anger we must have left behind us. The repercussions of having a student and a priest disappear, presumably together, was a burden I was sorry for the priory to bear. Sometimes I worried that James would try to track down Isabella, or that the Church was trying to find me. I prayed that we would remain safely hidden, though I wasn't sure if God would listen to me anymore, or if I had the right to ask Him for anything. Sundays were difficult. I was uncomfortable attending mass, as I was afraid God wouldn't want me there. After what I had done, why would He?

I feared sometimes that my happiness was an insult to God, and that he would not long tolerate it.

 ** _Miserere nostri, Domine, miserere nostri. Fiat misericordia tua, Domine, super nos, quemadmodum speravimus in te._** **Pity us, Lord, pity us. Have your mercy, Lord, on us, as we have hoped in you.**

When Isabella became pregnant, I tried not to be afraid.

I was happy, of course I was. I dreamed of a little girl with dark hair and eyes, just like her mother. Isabella made me laugh by her manner of informing me it would be a boy with my hair and eyes. I assured her that I didn't care what the baby was; I just wanted them to both be healthy.

What I meant was, I wanted them to both survive.

Emme mothered her, and my motherless wife enjoyed every moment of it. Isabella grew more beautiful as the child grew within her. Sometimes looking at her hurt my heart and made tears sting my eyes. I watched her sleep at night and prayed that God wouldn't take her from me.

Three days ago, Isabella went into labor.

She labors still.

 ** _Kyrie eleison…Christe eleison…Kyrie eleison_** **… Lord, have mercy... Christ, have mercy... Lord, have mercy.**

For the last two days, since it became apparent this was not an ordinary birth, I have lain on the floor before the altar in Carles' chapel, and begged.

Begged for Isabella's life.

Begged for the baby, that he or she will have a chance to live a Godly life.

Begged for the forgiveness of my myriad sins.

Begged for him to take me instead.

I pressed my wet face to the cool tile, out of words. Out of Latin. Out of rote prayers. All that was left was the grief and longing of my soul.

"Please," I whispered in English. "Please."

I know not how long I lay there before I heard someone enter the chapel.

"Edward," Carles said gently. "You have a daughter."

I kept laying there, waiting for the rest of it.

"It was a very difficult birth, but Isabella has survived."

A sob burst out of me, interrupting him. He came and sat on the floor next to me, placing his hand on my back.

"Edward," he continued, "it is very likely that she will not be able to have more children."

I turned my head and looked at him. "Good," was all I said. I was glad she would never have to go through this again.

He patted my back. "Shall we go see your family?"

I slowly got up off the floor, every joint stiff and painful, and stretched. We started to walk out, then I turned around and knelt at the altar. "Thank you," I said fervently.

For the first time, I thought it possible that I was forgiven.

 ** _Miserator et misericors Dominus, longanimis et multae misericordiae. Quem non transgredientur, neque convertentur operire morabuntur; aut nos propter peccata nostra et non agit secundum iniquitates nostras retribuas nobis._** **The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love. He will not always accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever; he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.**

Isabella looked exhausted, but was more beautiful to me than ever. I told her so, and laughed quietly as she scoffed at me. I sat on the bed, holding our daughter as my wife rested her head against my leg, and wondered how it was possible to bear so much happiness.

Emme got up from her chair, looking almost as exhausted as Isabella, and leaned against Carles. He wrapped his arm around her and asked, "Before I get my wife in bed, would you mind if I blessed you?"

"Please do," I replied.

He placed his hands on my head and Isabella's, praying, " _Confer salute corporum veramque pacem cordium."_ He then moved his hands to the baby, who blinked at him owlishly, and repeated in English, "Give the body health and true peace to the heart."

 ** _Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus, quoniam in aeternum misericordia eius._** **Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever.**

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 **A/N: Moved this over from my Twilight 25 since it was sort of buried in the middle of it-I was going to expand it, but I kind of love it the way it is. Everything I know about Benedictine priory life in the late middle ages and most of the Latin prayers I gleaned from the Dame Frevisse series by Margaret Frazer- if you are at all interested in** ** _really_** **good, realistic medieval mysteries, I highly recommend anything by her. Interestingly, Isabella, Edward, Jasper, Alice, Rose, James, Jane, Jacob, Elizabeth, Charles, Swan, Brandon, and Whitlock/Whytlok are all medieval names, some of them very common. Esme and Carlisle don't appear to have existed, so I got as close as I could, but I fudged with Emmet- it may be a female name since Emmot was. :D If it's not clear, the bold-face Latin-English between the sections is stuff Edward is praying during and after Isabella's labor. I'm posting Emmet's letter as a second chapter/outtake since it didn't fit in here, and I'll be posting a bunch of pictures on my tumblr (whilewewereyetsinners DOT tumblr DOT com). I love to hear your thoughts-please leave a comment if you can!**


	2. Outtake: Emmet's Letter to Edward

**Outtake: Emmet's letter to Edward**

.

Well beloved brother, I greet you. I write this missive with a sorrowful spirit. I regret that I did not try harder to intercede on your behalf when our father began to press you to become what you are. I had suspected he did so not out of a desire for your happiness—though I do not believe he cared nothing for it—but that after he was stricken with the wasting sickness he thought only of a son well-placed to do what he wished. I should have pressed him harder to think more on the matter, especially after you told me of your fear that it was not the profession best suited to you. It was only recently that I realized the extent of my failure, and I beg your forgiveness, though my knowledge of you leads me to believe it has already been granted. As I consider the matters of which we will speak this day, I expect you will have need of what accompanies this letter. Use it well, and know that it is for your use alone, not to be handed over to any other, but to be used as you see fit for your health and happiness. If you do what I hope, know that I will forever keep you in my prayers, and that I shall miss you, Ned. May God have you in his keeping until we meet again.

Emmet Masson, written at Spero Manor this 26th day of August in the fifth year of Henry VIII

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 **A/N: Okay, some explanations: Emmet is trying purposefully to be vague, since this letter could get both him and Edward in trouble. He's telling Edward that he should not give the money over to the church (which is what Edward is supposed to do), but use it either to save Isabella or to flee with her—moreover, that his hope is that Edward will choose the latter. Dangerous stuff for the time. Their father had pressed Edward to become a priest after being diagnosed with a wasting disease (a horrible way to die since you basically starve to death) because he wanted to know a priest would be dedicated to praying for his soul. The idea was that priests were closer to God and therefore more likely to have their prayers answered. He could have paid for prayers/masses to be done for him, but he liked the idea of Edward doing it better. He wasn't a bad guy or trying to make Edward unhappy, but in his shock over his illness he wasn't really listening to anyone's concerns either. Ultimately though, the fault lies with Edward, since no one forced him to take his vows. He knows this and never blamed anyone except himself for his predicament. Oh, and Spero means _hope_ in Latin, and I named the manor that because I liked it. :)**


End file.
